We Chose Lamech
Genesis 4:8-16; 23-24
Matthew 18:21-22;
September 10, 2006
Genesis 4:23-24 Lamech said to his wives: "Adah and Zillah, hear my voice; you wives of Lamech, hearken to what I say: I have slain a man for wounding me, a young man for striking me. If Cain is avenged sevenfold, truly Lamech seventy-sevenfold."
Matthew 5:43-45a. You have heard that it was said, 'You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy.' But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, so that you may be children of God who is in heaven; I say to you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you.
Matthew 18: 21-22: Then Peter came up and said to him, 'Lord, how often shall my brother sin against me, and I forgive him? As many as seven times?' Jesus said to him, 'I do not say to you seven times, but seventy times seven.'
Anniversaries are funny things, sometimes. For example, Fred and I have trouble remembering ours. We are happy, we rejoice together on many occasions during our years together, but we almost never remember our anniversary. We know when it is, and sometimes we will look forward to doing something special for several months, but then, somehow as the actual day draws near, we forget about until it is passed. Then we laugh, and say—well, next year! Next year. There are days when nothing at all is special to remember, no great event, no small triumph, no pressing memories, nothing but the easy and ordinary breathing in and out and going through the steps of ordinary life. Today is not such a day. Today we have a day with too much to remember, too many things to think and talk and pray about. Today is the beginning of the "Light a Candle for the Children" season of concern and activism on behalf of the children of the world who languish in poverty and fear, victims of neglect and violence and unremitting need. That alone would be enough deep thought, deep remembrance for one day. But today is also the day of remembrance for the attacks of September 11th. I originally did not intend to do a service about Sept. 11th today. I have noticed, as no doubt you have too, the number of new movies and specials and newscast look-backs about that dark day that have flooded the airways in the last month or two. Patriotic music, dramatic throbbing voices, the weeping eagle, the flag flying over the pits of death and destruction that once were the proud towers of unbelievable wealth and influence and power—all these emotionally jarring sounds and images, reminding us relentlessly of that tragic day when so many people died horribly. That day when ordinary people, going about their daily work were exploded, burned, crushed. That day when ordinary people found reserves of enormous courage and self-sacrifice in helping one another, searching for one another, rescuing one another, plunging into a dark hell in hopes of finding just one more survivor. That day when ordinary people took a plane, and themselves, down in death rather than be a weapon used against the Capitol or White House. No, I don't need the television or the newspapers to remind me of that day, I don’t need to see the images of that beautiful clear day when the planes flew into the soaring towers and the world—especially our world, changed forever.
But then I kept hearing about special events, memorials to those who lost their lives, and I became uneasily aware that what was a catastrophe was being memorialized into something else. Somehow, 911 has become a day to praise the courage of the true American fire-fighters and police officers and ordinary citizens, to mourn the loss of American lives, somehow it has become a symbol of the unbreakable American spirit and determination, and we were asked to light candles in remembrance of the day we survived an unjust and unprovoked attack. Somehow, 911 has become an event to be looked upon with pride—not just the pride of those heroic men and women who helped each other survive and sacrificed themselves for others. We may well remember with pride the heroism that disaster elicited from all those people. But 911 is not a day to remember with pride. Anger rose in me as I heard all the pious talk about services celebrating our nobility under unjust and undeserved attack. I'll light no candles for that memorial. Because the events of 911 should serve to remind us all of the day in which the complete travesty of our foreign policy, the injustice of our economic policies, and the abject selfishness of our worldview was illuminated before the world in the glare of the fire and broadcast in the cries of the dying.
Five years ago those attacks brought America to one brief, agonizingly brief moment of stunned and grief-filled silence as we considered the dreadful evidence of the hatred felt for us as a nation and a people by people in other countries, of other religious persuasions. We stood on the brink of a terrible decision. How would we, as a nation, respond to this attack upon our way of life? Five years ago I remember standing in this pulpit, and praying that our response would not be for vengeance. That our true spirit would be revealed as one of global awareness, of the kinship of the human family, and a humble recognition of the part we had played in bringing that terrible event to fruition. And the world, in that moment of shared sympathy and unity, waited with breath held to find out how we would choose to respond. Soon, too soon all the loud clamor of grief and outrage poured into that momentary silence, voices calling out in pain and sorrow, voices calling out in anger and frustration, voices calling out—to be avenged. Four years ago on the date of this anniversary, I preached a sermon entitled "The Way of Lamech."** It was a sermon filled with foreboding that we, the United States of America, would choose the path to destruction. That we, as a nation, would in our throws of the agony of loss and outraged pride choose the way of vengeance. And so, it seems, we have. So today is not a day to celebrate the ordinariness of life, the small pleasures and joys and annoyances. Today is the day we must revisit the story of Lamech.
Lamech was the great, great, great, great, great grandson of Cain. Cain, the one who was jealous that the LORD received his brother’s offering over his. The one who longed to be first, to be the most beloved, to be the most respected and honored. Cain, who labored long and hard to bring his offering of grains and fruits to the attention of the LORD, who preferred the lamb offering of his brother Abel. Cain, whose longing and jealousy finally drove him to murder his rival for the LORD's attention. Cain, who was banished from the home of his family to wander in strange lands. Cain, who feared retribution by the strangers he must spend his life among. Cain, who was marked by God with a sacred sign, a sign that no one may lay a hand upon him. Cain—who married and who apparently settled down and produced children, children who would build a city, who would become workers of bronze, tillers of soil, inventors of civilization as we know and treasure it. And the generations of Cain went by, and then—there was Lamech. Lamech, who inherited the grain sowed by Cain all those generations and lifetimes ago, when he took his hand and lifted it up—against his brother.
The seed of Cain is not unknown to later Biblical texts. Proverbs warns "Whoever sows injustice will reap calamity, and the rod of anger will fail." (Proverbs 22:8). Hosea warned: "They sow the wind, and they shall reap the whirlwind." (Hosea 8:7).
We are a good people. We all think so, here in America. We know we think so because when the twin towers came crashing down in unthinkable bursts of flame and death and crashing stone, when the Pentegon was violated and part lay in ruins, when Americans died striving to prevent more death and destruction, well, we sang "America the Beautiful," and famous religious leaders appeared on television proclaiming to a grieving and shocked nation the need for retaliation and proclaiming us all children of God in the same breath. And then, Paul warns "As ye sow, so shall ye reap." (Galatians 6:7). We did not choose the path of forgiveness impressed upon us by Jesus whom we proclaim Christ. We chose the way of Lamech.
We have the sown seeds of terror and violence across the earth, and enabled others to do so, and countless innocent lives have paid for it. We mixed those seeds with learning and protection and food and medicine. We sent doctors and teachers and dam builders and farm technicians. And we also sent planes and bombs and napalm. We have responded to violence with the same. We have chosen the path of Lamech. We proclaim ourselves to be a Christian people, at least, many of us do though that is no longer so large a number as once would have made that claim. Could it be that in part that shrinking number owes something to the absolutely incompatible resolves of loving and forgiving our enemies, the way of Jesus of Nazareth, and repaying insults and injuries with death seven fold, the way of Lamech? Could it be that we are reaping the whirlwind of our own sowing? Of course it could. When we sold American made missiles and tanks and artillery and military technology we have closed our eyes to the crop of our sowing. We see the images nightly on the news, bombed out villages, women weeping in the streets of Bagdad, Lebanon, the West Bank and Gaza, children staring at the cameras hollow-eyed with grief and hatred, we see the crop of our sowing, yet we close our eyes. When our bombs fell on Iraq and Libya and Serbia, not only soldiers died, but women and children and old men and the sick and infirm. Just as civilians and military lives were lost in the Pentagon. And perhaps the most insidious crop of all our sowing, the unimaginable wealth we all enjoy, that rests in part in the profits of our sales and support and partnering with death merchants and despots around the world. We have partnered with people we now denounce as evil. We supported Noriega, when it was advantageous to do so, in spite of the countless ruined lives he and his drug cartel caused. We supported and trained Osama Bin-Laden when he was our "freedom fighter" against the evil empire of the Soviet Union. Now we hunt him throughout the world, searching for the roots of the evil empire of his creation. We considered Saddam Hussein our ally when he supported us against the Ayatolla in Iran. Now he is the evil one, against who our newest seeds of death and destruction are turned. And our system trained Timothy McVeigh, a killing machine that turned against his masters when he believed they had betrayed him. We have supported military efforts in the middle east and in Israel, and half a million children have died in Iraq because of the seeds of hatred we have sown through sanctions. All those millions of lives were as precious to God as our own. God has not shielded the children of other nations from the results of violence and warfare and terror that we have assisted in growing, and now we see that God will not shield us from the reaping of the terrible crop we have sown and are sowing and are planning to sow.
Lamech turned God's sign of protection and mercy into license to avenge himself on anyone who wronged him, returning injury seven fold. If Cain is avenged sevenfold, truly Lamech is avenged seventy-sevenfold. We invaded Afghanistan, and pursued our enemies through the mountains and ransacked villages. When we were unable to lay hands upon him, we turned to Iraq, and the sowing of violent seed escalated. Lamech speaks yet today in our midst. God may forgive, but we do not. Think for a moment about seeds we have sown. When a cold-eyed Timothy McVeigh described the deaths of our children at his hands as "collateral damage," we were horrified and appalled. Yet Madeline Albright spoke of collateral damage from our bombs among Iraqis and Serbians, and didn't our country shrug off the deaths of thousands of other children? Don't we ignore the news reports of the civilians who die due to our military support in the Middle East, South America, Africa? We are told that this course of action is necessary to protect our national interest, and we accept it. We try to convince ourselves that it is necessary if we are to accept our responsibilities and try to contain the ravages of Cain who walks among us. We have not loved our neighbors as ourselves, we have practiced terror and violence among others, and enabled others to do so, and yet we condemn the actions of others who do so when their interests and ours do not coincide. We are so unwilling to accept the crop of our own sowing, that religious leaders proclaimed that we suffered the attacks of September 11th because "God has withdrawn his protection from us, because of our sins of feminism and immorality." In truth, God has never protected us from the consequences of our sins, and nor will God do so in the future. We reap what we sow eventually, and eventually came on September 11th. So as a nation we bear this judgment not because God has willed it but because we have willed it.
Today we remember the victims of the terrorist attacks in New York and Washington DC. But I submit that we must also remember those who have suffered and died through terrorism supported by our money and our technology among people of other nations. If we would truly remember, if we would truly erect a monument of honor to the victims of terrorism, I suggest that we not listen to Lamech, that we not follow his way. Seventy villages for seven, seventy cities for seven, seventy children for seven. I suggest that we must not shrug off as hopelessly idealistic the words of the one we call our Savior, the Savior of the world. I suggest that to honor the terrorist’s victims, we repent of our arms industry, declare as a country that we will not trade or subsidize trade in death, with terrorist groups or governments. That we renounce land-mines and first-use of nuclear weapons. That we repent of our corporate profits from the poverty of other nations, that we forgive developing world debt and establish fairer trade for the world’s poor would do such honor. That, in the words of Paul, we "do not return evil for evil, but overcome evil with good." We gathered here today have pledged in the witness of God and others that we accept Jesus and his Word, and that we will follow his way. There is "no two ways about it." We can mean what we say, and pray for and act for and demand peace. Or we can follow the clarion call for vengeance and the righteous prosecution of a war of retribution. Or even worse, a war against a nation that had no hand at all in bringing the towers down, a nation of people who suffered under the iron fist of a dictator and then under the bombs and guns of our invasion and who now view us not as liberators but as bloody-handed occupiers, bringers of death and destruction. That is the way of Lamech. We should be lighting candles in memory of the children made homeless and orphaned by the attack on 911, both in the Untied States and in Iraq and everywhere in the world that violence and retribution guide our hands. We chose Lamech, and in so choosing we forgot something. God did not stand between the children of Bagdad and our bombs. God did not stand between the children of the West Bank and the guns and tanks bought from us. God did not stand between the children on the highjacked airliners or in the streets of New York and the rain of death purchased with hatred. And God will not stand between our children and the murderous intent of people who thrive in a world where might makes right and violence is acceptable if the government tells us it is in our national interest. Someday, somewhere, someone will have to try the way of peace. Shouldn't it be us? Or are we happy with the choice we have made?
**The original sermon was inspired by a brilliant article entitled "The Way of Lamech." I am indebted to the writer of that article, though sadly I have lost the cite and cannot thank him/her by name.
Matthew 18:21-22;
September 10, 2006
Genesis 4:23-24 Lamech said to his wives: "Adah and Zillah, hear my voice; you wives of Lamech, hearken to what I say: I have slain a man for wounding me, a young man for striking me. If Cain is avenged sevenfold, truly Lamech seventy-sevenfold."
Matthew 5:43-45a. You have heard that it was said, 'You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy.' But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, so that you may be children of God who is in heaven; I say to you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you.
Matthew 18: 21-22: Then Peter came up and said to him, 'Lord, how often shall my brother sin against me, and I forgive him? As many as seven times?' Jesus said to him, 'I do not say to you seven times, but seventy times seven.'
Anniversaries are funny things, sometimes. For example, Fred and I have trouble remembering ours. We are happy, we rejoice together on many occasions during our years together, but we almost never remember our anniversary. We know when it is, and sometimes we will look forward to doing something special for several months, but then, somehow as the actual day draws near, we forget about until it is passed. Then we laugh, and say—well, next year! Next year. There are days when nothing at all is special to remember, no great event, no small triumph, no pressing memories, nothing but the easy and ordinary breathing in and out and going through the steps of ordinary life. Today is not such a day. Today we have a day with too much to remember, too many things to think and talk and pray about. Today is the beginning of the "Light a Candle for the Children" season of concern and activism on behalf of the children of the world who languish in poverty and fear, victims of neglect and violence and unremitting need. That alone would be enough deep thought, deep remembrance for one day. But today is also the day of remembrance for the attacks of September 11th. I originally did not intend to do a service about Sept. 11th today. I have noticed, as no doubt you have too, the number of new movies and specials and newscast look-backs about that dark day that have flooded the airways in the last month or two. Patriotic music, dramatic throbbing voices, the weeping eagle, the flag flying over the pits of death and destruction that once were the proud towers of unbelievable wealth and influence and power—all these emotionally jarring sounds and images, reminding us relentlessly of that tragic day when so many people died horribly. That day when ordinary people, going about their daily work were exploded, burned, crushed. That day when ordinary people found reserves of enormous courage and self-sacrifice in helping one another, searching for one another, rescuing one another, plunging into a dark hell in hopes of finding just one more survivor. That day when ordinary people took a plane, and themselves, down in death rather than be a weapon used against the Capitol or White House. No, I don't need the television or the newspapers to remind me of that day, I don’t need to see the images of that beautiful clear day when the planes flew into the soaring towers and the world—especially our world, changed forever.
But then I kept hearing about special events, memorials to those who lost their lives, and I became uneasily aware that what was a catastrophe was being memorialized into something else. Somehow, 911 has become a day to praise the courage of the true American fire-fighters and police officers and ordinary citizens, to mourn the loss of American lives, somehow it has become a symbol of the unbreakable American spirit and determination, and we were asked to light candles in remembrance of the day we survived an unjust and unprovoked attack. Somehow, 911 has become an event to be looked upon with pride—not just the pride of those heroic men and women who helped each other survive and sacrificed themselves for others. We may well remember with pride the heroism that disaster elicited from all those people. But 911 is not a day to remember with pride. Anger rose in me as I heard all the pious talk about services celebrating our nobility under unjust and undeserved attack. I'll light no candles for that memorial. Because the events of 911 should serve to remind us all of the day in which the complete travesty of our foreign policy, the injustice of our economic policies, and the abject selfishness of our worldview was illuminated before the world in the glare of the fire and broadcast in the cries of the dying.
Five years ago those attacks brought America to one brief, agonizingly brief moment of stunned and grief-filled silence as we considered the dreadful evidence of the hatred felt for us as a nation and a people by people in other countries, of other religious persuasions. We stood on the brink of a terrible decision. How would we, as a nation, respond to this attack upon our way of life? Five years ago I remember standing in this pulpit, and praying that our response would not be for vengeance. That our true spirit would be revealed as one of global awareness, of the kinship of the human family, and a humble recognition of the part we had played in bringing that terrible event to fruition. And the world, in that moment of shared sympathy and unity, waited with breath held to find out how we would choose to respond. Soon, too soon all the loud clamor of grief and outrage poured into that momentary silence, voices calling out in pain and sorrow, voices calling out in anger and frustration, voices calling out—to be avenged. Four years ago on the date of this anniversary, I preached a sermon entitled "The Way of Lamech."** It was a sermon filled with foreboding that we, the United States of America, would choose the path to destruction. That we, as a nation, would in our throws of the agony of loss and outraged pride choose the way of vengeance. And so, it seems, we have. So today is not a day to celebrate the ordinariness of life, the small pleasures and joys and annoyances. Today is the day we must revisit the story of Lamech.
Lamech was the great, great, great, great, great grandson of Cain. Cain, the one who was jealous that the LORD received his brother’s offering over his. The one who longed to be first, to be the most beloved, to be the most respected and honored. Cain, who labored long and hard to bring his offering of grains and fruits to the attention of the LORD, who preferred the lamb offering of his brother Abel. Cain, whose longing and jealousy finally drove him to murder his rival for the LORD's attention. Cain, who was banished from the home of his family to wander in strange lands. Cain, who feared retribution by the strangers he must spend his life among. Cain, who was marked by God with a sacred sign, a sign that no one may lay a hand upon him. Cain—who married and who apparently settled down and produced children, children who would build a city, who would become workers of bronze, tillers of soil, inventors of civilization as we know and treasure it. And the generations of Cain went by, and then—there was Lamech. Lamech, who inherited the grain sowed by Cain all those generations and lifetimes ago, when he took his hand and lifted it up—against his brother.
The seed of Cain is not unknown to later Biblical texts. Proverbs warns "Whoever sows injustice will reap calamity, and the rod of anger will fail." (Proverbs 22:8). Hosea warned: "They sow the wind, and they shall reap the whirlwind." (Hosea 8:7).
We are a good people. We all think so, here in America. We know we think so because when the twin towers came crashing down in unthinkable bursts of flame and death and crashing stone, when the Pentegon was violated and part lay in ruins, when Americans died striving to prevent more death and destruction, well, we sang "America the Beautiful," and famous religious leaders appeared on television proclaiming to a grieving and shocked nation the need for retaliation and proclaiming us all children of God in the same breath. And then, Paul warns "As ye sow, so shall ye reap." (Galatians 6:7). We did not choose the path of forgiveness impressed upon us by Jesus whom we proclaim Christ. We chose the way of Lamech.
We have the sown seeds of terror and violence across the earth, and enabled others to do so, and countless innocent lives have paid for it. We mixed those seeds with learning and protection and food and medicine. We sent doctors and teachers and dam builders and farm technicians. And we also sent planes and bombs and napalm. We have responded to violence with the same. We have chosen the path of Lamech. We proclaim ourselves to be a Christian people, at least, many of us do though that is no longer so large a number as once would have made that claim. Could it be that in part that shrinking number owes something to the absolutely incompatible resolves of loving and forgiving our enemies, the way of Jesus of Nazareth, and repaying insults and injuries with death seven fold, the way of Lamech? Could it be that we are reaping the whirlwind of our own sowing? Of course it could. When we sold American made missiles and tanks and artillery and military technology we have closed our eyes to the crop of our sowing. We see the images nightly on the news, bombed out villages, women weeping in the streets of Bagdad, Lebanon, the West Bank and Gaza, children staring at the cameras hollow-eyed with grief and hatred, we see the crop of our sowing, yet we close our eyes. When our bombs fell on Iraq and Libya and Serbia, not only soldiers died, but women and children and old men and the sick and infirm. Just as civilians and military lives were lost in the Pentagon. And perhaps the most insidious crop of all our sowing, the unimaginable wealth we all enjoy, that rests in part in the profits of our sales and support and partnering with death merchants and despots around the world. We have partnered with people we now denounce as evil. We supported Noriega, when it was advantageous to do so, in spite of the countless ruined lives he and his drug cartel caused. We supported and trained Osama Bin-Laden when he was our "freedom fighter" against the evil empire of the Soviet Union. Now we hunt him throughout the world, searching for the roots of the evil empire of his creation. We considered Saddam Hussein our ally when he supported us against the Ayatolla in Iran. Now he is the evil one, against who our newest seeds of death and destruction are turned. And our system trained Timothy McVeigh, a killing machine that turned against his masters when he believed they had betrayed him. We have supported military efforts in the middle east and in Israel, and half a million children have died in Iraq because of the seeds of hatred we have sown through sanctions. All those millions of lives were as precious to God as our own. God has not shielded the children of other nations from the results of violence and warfare and terror that we have assisted in growing, and now we see that God will not shield us from the reaping of the terrible crop we have sown and are sowing and are planning to sow.
Lamech turned God's sign of protection and mercy into license to avenge himself on anyone who wronged him, returning injury seven fold. If Cain is avenged sevenfold, truly Lamech is avenged seventy-sevenfold. We invaded Afghanistan, and pursued our enemies through the mountains and ransacked villages. When we were unable to lay hands upon him, we turned to Iraq, and the sowing of violent seed escalated. Lamech speaks yet today in our midst. God may forgive, but we do not. Think for a moment about seeds we have sown. When a cold-eyed Timothy McVeigh described the deaths of our children at his hands as "collateral damage," we were horrified and appalled. Yet Madeline Albright spoke of collateral damage from our bombs among Iraqis and Serbians, and didn't our country shrug off the deaths of thousands of other children? Don't we ignore the news reports of the civilians who die due to our military support in the Middle East, South America, Africa? We are told that this course of action is necessary to protect our national interest, and we accept it. We try to convince ourselves that it is necessary if we are to accept our responsibilities and try to contain the ravages of Cain who walks among us. We have not loved our neighbors as ourselves, we have practiced terror and violence among others, and enabled others to do so, and yet we condemn the actions of others who do so when their interests and ours do not coincide. We are so unwilling to accept the crop of our own sowing, that religious leaders proclaimed that we suffered the attacks of September 11th because "God has withdrawn his protection from us, because of our sins of feminism and immorality." In truth, God has never protected us from the consequences of our sins, and nor will God do so in the future. We reap what we sow eventually, and eventually came on September 11th. So as a nation we bear this judgment not because God has willed it but because we have willed it.
Today we remember the victims of the terrorist attacks in New York and Washington DC. But I submit that we must also remember those who have suffered and died through terrorism supported by our money and our technology among people of other nations. If we would truly remember, if we would truly erect a monument of honor to the victims of terrorism, I suggest that we not listen to Lamech, that we not follow his way. Seventy villages for seven, seventy cities for seven, seventy children for seven. I suggest that we must not shrug off as hopelessly idealistic the words of the one we call our Savior, the Savior of the world. I suggest that to honor the terrorist’s victims, we repent of our arms industry, declare as a country that we will not trade or subsidize trade in death, with terrorist groups or governments. That we renounce land-mines and first-use of nuclear weapons. That we repent of our corporate profits from the poverty of other nations, that we forgive developing world debt and establish fairer trade for the world’s poor would do such honor. That, in the words of Paul, we "do not return evil for evil, but overcome evil with good." We gathered here today have pledged in the witness of God and others that we accept Jesus and his Word, and that we will follow his way. There is "no two ways about it." We can mean what we say, and pray for and act for and demand peace. Or we can follow the clarion call for vengeance and the righteous prosecution of a war of retribution. Or even worse, a war against a nation that had no hand at all in bringing the towers down, a nation of people who suffered under the iron fist of a dictator and then under the bombs and guns of our invasion and who now view us not as liberators but as bloody-handed occupiers, bringers of death and destruction. That is the way of Lamech. We should be lighting candles in memory of the children made homeless and orphaned by the attack on 911, both in the Untied States and in Iraq and everywhere in the world that violence and retribution guide our hands. We chose Lamech, and in so choosing we forgot something. God did not stand between the children of Bagdad and our bombs. God did not stand between the children of the West Bank and the guns and tanks bought from us. God did not stand between the children on the highjacked airliners or in the streets of New York and the rain of death purchased with hatred. And God will not stand between our children and the murderous intent of people who thrive in a world where might makes right and violence is acceptable if the government tells us it is in our national interest. Someday, somewhere, someone will have to try the way of peace. Shouldn't it be us? Or are we happy with the choice we have made?
**The original sermon was inspired by a brilliant article entitled "The Way of Lamech." I am indebted to the writer of that article, though sadly I have lost the cite and cannot thank him/her by name.
posted by First Christian Church on Monday, September 11, 2006
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